


burn, live, shine

by sugarandvoid



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Merle-centric, follows up to the most recent ep, i love my dwarf dad, mostly canon compliant, pretty sappy, very introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarandvoid/pseuds/sugarandvoid
Summary: Underneath and yet above the all-blanketing sky, with a strange potion on his breath, he can heal. And every morning, he wakes up and tries to love what he cannot. a man who gave up his dominant hand for his friend needs more fic, damn you





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really trying to not self-depreciate when writing this, since i'm weirdly proud of it despite its flaws, plus it's the only extended piece of writing i've really been able to write for ages. i relate to merle in a bunch of ways and he never really gets the love he deserves, so here's something pretty merle centric for you guys, enjoy. my apologies for any inaccuracies re: canon.

Merle Highchurch is a dwarf of few worries. 

There was an inherent freedom attached to aloofness- if he wasn’t engaged, it couldn’t hurt. He sees Taako steal money from his deceased cousins, turns his eye, because what’s caring without hurt? And what’s family without hurt? If he challenged him, pointed the shadiness of robbing the dead out there’d only inevitably be another argument. He won’t- can’t- face that again, so he turns his head away and tries as hard as he can to forget. He holds it to himself that he’ll get the money back one day, but he avoids it internally for long enough that it just slips away too. By then he’s placed his trust- reluctantly- in Taako and Magnus. The ogre thing was a real shit show at first, but he was part of the team, what he did worked and it worked well and there was no-one to tell him he’d fucked up again, just wasn’t good enough, that they didn’t know after all this time why he wasn’t just leaving and not coming back. 

Then comes the train. He’s under a different name this time. He’s Leemond Kessler, thick Scottish accent and all. For a while he forgets. Sure, he’s no great impressionist, but apart from that smart-ass kid and the spoilsport magic book, there’s nobody to call him out on it. Nobody knows who Leemond Kessler is, here, so he drops his baggage at Merle Highchurch station (figuratively, the train idea is a difficult muse to shake) and lets Leemond Kessler define himself. Leemond Kessler is great at golf, succeeded at school, never made the bad decisions Merle Highchurch did late at night, hopped up on leaves and powders. He’s proficient in accountancy and can speak 4 languages then read 5, unlike Merle, who can speak two and barely reads anything anyway. He reads the real bible of Pan and prays every night, the way he should, hasn’t forgotten what he heard in Pan Camp about How Things Should Be- And Are. The last book Merle Highchurch read was The Girl With The Dragonborn Tattoo, which he’s pretending to have liked and understood. Leemond Kessler has a wife who has sex with him each night and a daughter he can protect. The world of Leemond Kessler, in all its functioning normality, grows like leaves around him. It’s beautiful, protective and lasts only for a season before slowly, then all at once, dissipating around him. 

The racing, on the other hand, brings something to him. It’s the sort of thing he’s never been allowed to do. Dangerous, and illegal as all shit. When they’re in the bank he has sex with some plants (plants don’t have genders, Merle rationalizes that if he personifies them with a sexy lady voice it’s alright) then finds, and gets his ass promptly kicked by, someone who can do everything he can do better. He nurtures the feeling of shame and jealousy inside him for a while after. They’re inseparable, flowing together like a dark, viscous liquid. But underneath the owl mask, in front of a crowd of thousands he’s the hero. With Garyl underneath him he’s at home- he vaguely understands something about himself, which he only later acknowledges. He’s been caught in mid-air, saved from a certain death and at the end of the race, when it all goes to shit, something beautiful is left behind. A mural to love which he can only stand in awe of. It hurts, but he’s gotten through it all. Merle Highchurch can live through something. He’s worthwhile, and behind the mask and heroism that surrounds him in front of everyone he misses Merle, wants to be at home within himself. 

The lab is a mixed experience. He sees Pan, twice, under a real and fake guise. Pan himself gives him help, comes down from his heavenly loft to solve Merle’s problems. Pan is like he always imagined. He’s stunning. Radiant, even. The music of harps surround him like a gentle shroud. What Merle picks out is how Pan, in all his holiness, is just how Merle always envisioned, and gratifies him in the way he’d dreamed of then hidden. “You’re not stupid, Merle” he tells him. “You’re beautiful” he finishes. And for Merle it hurts, heals, satisfies and sets off an ache within him that he can’t overcome. Pan- he loves Pan. Devotion to Pan echoes within him. And perhaps when Pan comes in the form he does, knowing how he’s thought of Pan in the past, it’s alright. He’s not broken. Merle Highchurch- himself- is beautiful. When he gives up his dominant arm for his friends, who he holds so close to his heart, for the moment he thinks Pan himself has abandoned him he’s full of the whirling anger and guilt he felt prior. And when he finds that God still loves him- when he finds he’s been lied to- that anger comes out in full force. Merle Highchurch- perhaps for the first time- doesn’t let anyone lie to him or make him feel less, make him hurt. Losing his arm fucking sucks. But in these moments of realization, he’s more alive and whole than ever. Pan loves him. Magnus and Taako value and respect him. He’s a force for good and truth-ostensibly, though he’s trying his best. That part of him can never be diminished. 

There’s no way to force things. Merle knows that; he knows it better than anyone. He’s come to accept it. Yet looking out, deep into the vast unknowable realms of space, he can reach down into the most hurting and aching places of himself and touch them; as warm and soft as dying stars. He can curve his fingers over them, push them into place, and know them for what they are. Underneath and yet above the all-blanketing sky, with a strange potion on his breath, he can heal. And every morning, he wakes up and tries to love what he cannot. And it doesn’t get better. At first. It seems hopeless. But it gets better as it gets easier. In some small moments- all with Magnus and Taako, he realizes- he can enjoy himself. Like clay moulded into a larger lump, he’s part of something, just like before but better. Just sometimes, he’s full of love. Not whole; still in pieces. Pieces spread in the Tres Horny Boys, the BOB, his estranged family and those he has met and left. But he’s in pieces that shine to the touch rather than breaking under it. Which is alright. He doesn’t need to be perfect just yet. For the first time in a long while, existence is better than the absence of it, amongst the void in him there are whole constellations of stars that burn, live, shine.


End file.
